Never Courted, Suddenly Wed (Scandalous Seasons #2)(33)

Christ, what was wrong with him, though?! He’d been ruminating about Sophie Winters’ breasts? Surely he’d descended into madness.

“You know you shouldn’t tilt back in your seat,” Mallen continued like he was a too stern tutor reprimanding his student.

A somber expression settled into the graceful lines of Sophie’s face. “Absolutely. If you remember from Lady Ackerly’s column, it is in quite bad form to tilt in your seat, Chris…my lord.”

The duke looked back to Sophie. “Who is this Lady Ackerly?”

Sophie waved her hand about. “She is the gossip who reports quite frequently about my goings-on.”

Christopher dusted his palms over the front of his breeches. “Yes. Sophie was guilty of tilting back on the legs of a chair at Lady Tarrington’s ball.”

“It wasn’t Lady Tarrington’s ball. It was Lady Kavanaugh’s recital.”

“Regardless, Phi…Miss Winters toppled over and…”

“Society should have learned from my experience not to tip in one’s seat. Especially those who pay such particular attention to Lady Ackerly’s reporting,” she said with pointed censure for Christopher.

Mallen frowned. “Never heard of this Lady Ackerly. Sounds like an atrocious bit of baggage.”

Sophie cornflower blue eyes went all wide and soft, as if the Duke of Mallen had slain a dragon on her behalf.

Oh, I’ve had about all I can take of this nauseating exchange. “Are we done here?”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon.”

A dull heat crept up Christopher’s neck. He cleared his throat. “I said it’s quite sunny in here.”

Mallen folded his arms across his chest. “Odd, it sounded remarkably like you said…”

Christopher glared him into silence.

“Are you certain you’re all right, Christopher?” Again, Sophie’s use of his Christian name indicated her momentary lapse in propriety. If anyone had ever said that Sophie would look at him with this gentle concern and not the typical annoyance he’d come to expect from her, he’d have said they were one carriage ride away from a trip to Bedlam.

“I’m fine, Phi,” he assured her.

Her full lips settled into a smile…

That she redirected Mallen’s way. “I didn’t know you cared for poetry, Your Grace.”

Great, so we’re back to this.

Mallen inclined his head. “I can’t imagine anyone dislikes poetry.”

His friend would be wise not to settle a sum on that wager. Christopher loathed every single written word that reminded him of his flaws.

Sophie caught her lip between her teeth. “I’d thought Em said you gave her quite a hard time about her poetry selection.”

Christopher hid a grin behind his hand. There was no other lady in the entire British Empire who would challenge the Duke of Mallen, even inadvertently—except Sophie. He’d imagine that Mallen wouldn’t care for such insolence in young ladies.

It appeared he was wrong.

Mallen tossed his head back on a loud guffaw. “I do say, Miss Winters, you have me there.” He leaned close, blocking Christopher’s view of Sophie. When he spoke, his voice came out as a low, mellifluous whisper. “Then, you inspire a man to acquire a taste for poetry.”

Oh, for Christ’s sake. Christopher had about all he could stand of this display. “The duke has an appointment and must be going now,” Christopher snapped.

The adoring gleam that had glazed Sophie’s eyes lifted. She gave her head a shake. “I’m sorry?”

“Not as sorry as I’m sure the duke is. If you’ll excuse him, Mallen has matters of business to attend to.”

Mallen straightened his shoulders. “No, I don’t. Lord Waxham misspoke.”

Sophie and Christopher spoken in unison.

“I did?”

“He did?”

Mallen nodded. “Oh, yes. What Waxham intended to say was that he has an appointment.” He looked over the top of Sophie’s head and grinned at Christopher. “Good day, Waxham.”

Christopher clenched his teeth so hard, his jaw ached. He beat a hasty bow for Sophie. “Miss Winters,” he snapped and then stormed from the room.

Christopher didn’t know what game Mallen played, but he intended to find out.





Lady Ackerly’s Tattle Sheet





Madame LeCompe, the esteemed French modiste, has avowed to no longer design for Miss S.W. after the young lady questioned the authenticity of the woman’s French accent.


10

“Good day, Waxham.” Christopher muttered under his breath as he stomped up the steps of the Duke of Mallen’s townhouse. “He says, ‘good day, Waxham.’”

Christopher lifted the knocker and pounded the wood panel hard enough to rouse the neighboring residents. The Duke of Mallen’s old butler threw open the door. His bushy gray brows flared in what Christopher suspected was surprise. No one would expect the calm, easy-mannered earl to do anything remotely shocking. Suddenly, the image he’d established for himself grated.

“My lord,” the servant greeted.

Waxham sailed past him, through the front door, and into the foyer. “I’m here to see His Grace.”